


Intoxication

by funktechnisch



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Drunkenness, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nobody is Dead, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-10-07 16:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funktechnisch/pseuds/funktechnisch
Summary: Adrian works the night shift in his mother's ER.He thinks he's seen everything under the sun, until he meets the same man, night after night, drunk and stumbling in through his door. He's rash, foul-mouthed, accident prone, and he's senseless, funny, he's charming and he's beautiful, and Adrian is positive he's falling for him.





	1. suture

**Author's Note:**

> brief descriptions of blood, injuries, and alcohol use

su·ture

_ noun _

a medical device used to hold body tissues together after an injury or surgery

1

    There’s a moment every night, before he clocks in, that Adrian takes to think about whether or not this is what he  _ really  _ wants to be doing. He’s got eight hours ahead of him working through the middle of the night in blood and guts. He’ll sit at his desk and smile and take notes while watching triage nurses stitch skin back together and janitors mop blood and vomit off the floor with disinfectant. He’s never really had a normal night at the ER since he started working there, but he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be tonight.

    So here he is, clocking in, swirling the last of his drive-thru coffee around in its Styrofoam cup with his free hand before he chugs it. Nurses nod in his direction as he starts down the hall, and some of them stop to smile and make small talk. He makes his way past the elevators and nurses’ station to the emergency room lobby, dropping off his backpack behind the counter and hopping onto his office chair that overlooks the waiting area, the one that wobbles if he sits down wrong.

    His phone buzzes in his pocket as soon as he gets comfortable, and he doesn’t have to look to see who it is as he slides his thumb across the screen.

    “Hi Dad.”

    His father’s voice comes in, deep and tired and honey sweet as always. Always eager to talk to him, even at the worst times. “Hello, Adrian.” He’s hours ahead of him back at home, it’s almost six in the morning there and Adrian is positive he hasn’t slept yet. “I hope I haven’t called you at a bad time, but I knew you’d still be awake.” He hears the pages of a book turning and smiles when he imagines being at home with his father, sees his library full of books in his mind so clearly and can almost smell the fireplace burning.

    “I’m actually at work,” Adrian says quietly. “I just clocked in and sat down when you called.” But it’s not particularly busy yet, and the only people here are half asleep in waiting room chairs. He takes another brief look around the room, and decides to humor his father. “I can talk for a minute.”

    “I spoke to your mother the other night, and she sounds absolutely thrilled with her new job.” Adrian can hear the smile on his father's face when he says it; he knows how proud his father is of his mother. He has a feeling neither one of them can help but think about her while she's gone. “I wish she were home with me, but she wouldn’t be your mother if she sat still anywhere for longer than a week.”

    Adrian thinks about his mother, who flew out of country two weeks ago to work across an ocean in a little clinic on the coast. Saving lives, she had explained, and packed her bags and kissed them both on the cheek before she was boarding an international airplane, and sending text messages with pictures of her new office: half the size of her old one, with a waist-high fan for an air conditioning system. Just a year, she said, and then she’d be home. He thought his father might go mad before then.

    “And I’m sure she’ll be just as thrilled to see you when she  _ is  _ home.” Adrian hears the charge nurse’s voice echo down the hall, and curses his luck. “I need to get back to work for now though, I’ll call you back later Dad.” He hesitates to hang up. “I love you. Get some sleep, it’s too late for an old man like you to be up.” His father laughs, hard, and they exchange goodbyes before Adrian slips his phone into his bag just as the nurse rounds the corner past him.

    He fidgets in his seat, now that he’s at a standstill, and drums his fingers against the countertop, bounces his leg in vain as he scans the waiting room. It’s a Thursday night, it’s rainy out and dreary and the hospital has already hit a lull. For once he’s unappreciative of the time to himself, feeling anxious and impatient waiting for anything to do to kill the tension in the air. Texting his mother isn't an option, he knows she's busy; Adrian logs into his computer and begins to pick through folders. He tries to reread patient files, one by one until the names blur together; he fixes typos and formatting errors until his eyes sting when he remembers to blink. He runs fingers through his own hair while he scrolls through his Twitter feed, rearranges every offending and unorganized pencil and pen on his desk (twice, once by color and once by size) until he's satisfied. Adrian glances at the time on his screen, and it’s only been half an hour but it feels like a lifetime of waiting. He can’t bear to look at another list of drug allergies, so he closes his browser and watches the clock on the wall, letting his mind wander.

    Almost ten minutes pass like this, and then the front doors swing open. Adrian’s eyes dart over the top of his computer screen to two twenty-somethings, one limping and the other supporting him with a strong arm around his waist, who drag themselves into his ER. He’s out of his seat and meeting them halfway to the counter and calling for a nurse when he spots an open gash on the limping man’s leg across his thigh. It’s jagged, it’s angry, and it’s red, leaking blood over this man’s jeans and the linoleum tile floor beneath him- Adrian sucks in a deep breath until he realizes how superficial the wound is. He won’t bleed out, it hasn’t sliced through his femoral artery, but it’s  _ wide  _ enough that Adrian is glad he had the sense to come for stitches. He looks over his shoulder for the nurse and wonders how long it takes someone to find a damn suture kit.

    Before he lets his thoughts wander too far, Adrian moves the pair towards a bench by his desk. It’s blocked off from the main hallway by a short curtain on wheels, blood pressure cuff waiting on a shelf, but all he really wants is to get this man off his feet before he collapses. There’s only a few patients still in the waiting area, and none of them happen to be  _ bleeding _ , so he’s fairly certain this man takes priority over them, for now. Adrian grabs his computer, brings it over to the two, and clears his throat to grab their attention. “I’ve already asked for a nurse to come and have a look at your leg, but I need to ask you a few questions before she makes her way up here.” He starts bouncing his leg again, relieved he’s at least got something to do and someone to talk to. “I need your name, date of birth, where you live, and the reason why you're here tonight.”

    The injured man gives a throaty grunt in response, tilting his head up to look at Adrian after a prod from his friend at his side. He’s got pieces of scruffy, dark hair scattered across his face, and a darker five o’clock shadow covering the rest of it; it looks like he’s forgotten to shave for a few days. His eyes are half-closed and weak. It looks like he’s been awake all night, and he has a hard time focusing on Adrian’s face when he speaks. From the smell coming off him alone, Adrian guesses he’s been drinking. “Trevor,” he finally says. “Belmont.” He’s annoyed, and Adrian guesses he’d be pretty annoyed, too, if he had a chunk of skin missing from his thigh and someone stopped to ask his name. Trevor gives curt responses to the rest of his questions. “‘m here because my damn leg’s got a hole in it,” he slurs, and Adrian decides he’s  _ definitely _ been drinking.

    His friend gives Adrian a look that’s sympathetic at best, exhausted at worst- she’s in pajamas, he realizes, and her short red hair is pulled back from her face in a series of small metal clips. “He called me an hour ago and said he got himself into a bar fight,” she explains, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. “I picked him up, saw that he really was bleeding and drove him straight here.” Adrian takes it all in, fingers tapping lightning fast on his keyboard when he catches a glimpse of scrubs out of the corner of his eye. Finally.

    “You were in a bar fight,” he continues, sounding less concerned and more disappointed. Trevor nods, and says little else but groans in pain when he tries to readjust how he’s sitting, hand flying to his thigh. “That’s an awfully big cut for just a bar fight," Adrian says quietly. "You really must’ve really pissed someone off.” He can’t help but smile when Trevor responds with a nasty glare; he must be feeling somewhat better if he's in the mood to fight back.

    “Just a bar fight,” Trevor repeats, wincing as he moves his hand away. It’s covered in blood, and his friend chides at him to stop touching it. “So am I getting stitches tonight, or do they expect me to bleed out on the floor  _ and  _ pay for it?” 

    The triage nurse arrives as Trevor speaks; her eyes glance over his injury and she asks his friend for a bit of space. She bends down to inspect Trevor’s thigh, dabbing at it with alcohol wipes. He looks away from his own injury immediately, focused squarely on the wall across from him, intensely reading and rereading a flu season infographic as the nurse tuts in disapproval. She reads off Trevor’s blood pressure and temperature to Adrian as she checks them, then helps Trevor up and leads him into the nearest examination room, suture kit tucked under her arm- leaving Adrian with Trevor’s friend in the lobby.

    “So,” Adrian starts as he closes Trevor’s file. “Does he call you often when he’s out past his bedtime, or were you feeling generous tonight?” He grins, waiting for her response, but the woman seems distracted, watching Trevor’s door until Adrian catches her attention with a wave of his hand.

    “It’s not the first time, no.” She blinks, brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and notices she has blood on the back of her hand. “He’s called me before, when he’s in trouble, just never this late. And never for this many stitches.” She laughs and holds her hands under the hand sanitizer dispenser by the counter, wiping the excess off on her sweatshirt. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know a good way to get blood up out of car upholstery, would you?” Adrian shakes his head and the lady smiles again. For someone who’s been woken up so early for a bar fight, she’s awfully chipper.

    “If I find out, you’ll be the first to know.” The adrenaline from earlier is beginning to wear off, Adrian can tell, and his shoulders relax almost on cue. He fills out a few forms he has bookmarked on his browser with Trevor’s information, resting his chin on his free hand as he clicks through question after question. “He shouldn’t be long,” Adrian offers. “Hopefully, if he sits still. He’s lucky that little scratch was shallow or he’d have been in far more trouble.” Trevor is extraordinarily lucky drunks are sloppy fighters.

    Adrian keeps talking, and the minutes pass by faster. He learns Trevor’s friend is Sypha, and that the two of them have been roommates for almost four months now. He knows that Sypha lives in town not too far from here, that she’s a Gryffindor, and that this is in fact the third time she’s brought Trevor into the emergency room. Between Sypha and his medical records, Adrian also knows Trevor is exactly three years older than he is, that he’s a diabetic, and he hasn’t had his flu shot this year.

    Trevor eventually emerges with an awkward waddle as he rubs the top of his leg, skeptical when he pulls his hand back and sees no blood. Adrian watches the nurse carry her clipboard back down the hall towards her computer, and watches Sypha walk with a little urgency towards Trevor. She checks his leg, asking if he’s alright, and Trevor seems annoyed at the attention, scoffing and reassuring her he’s had worse.

    As he’s watching them, Adrian realizes just how tall Trevor is- standing next to Sypha, she makes him look monumental. She barely comes up to his chest, and she’s having to crane her neck just to get a good look at his face. Now that he’s in better light and not hunched over his leg like an injured animal, Adrian can really  _ see _ his face. His eyes follow the stubble on his jaw, up to the thin scar running down his left cheek, and Adrian drags his eyes further up his face until his lock with Trevor’s. He notes that they're blue before he looks away, feeling a little embarrassed and trying to act as if he were minding his own business while the tips of his ears turn warm and pink.

   Trevor doesn't break his gaze from Adrian. “What, have I got something on my face?” He takes a few wobbly steps away from Sypha, who’s a little late to the punch trying to grab Trevor’s arm to pull him back. Adrian tries to give him a floundering excuse, but Trevor cuts him off before he can even finish and cuts most of the distance between them. He's leaning down a bit, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he stands to the side of the desk. Adrian  _ also _ has to look up to see Trevor's face from his chair, and the alcohol on his breath makes him cough. He thinks he might be more flushed under different circumstances. “You can just say something then, instead of staring at me, like I'm some kind of damn… animal,” he says, and he sounds like he's struggling to sound mad.

    Adrian knows Trevor is just trying to intimidate him, first and foremost, and he thinks it would be too easy to just let him have this. He's dealt with plenty of aggravating patients, but he's never had any fun with it. So he sits up straighter, and he looks right at Trevor when he finally responds. “Yes, actually. Sorry to tell you like this... you’ve got a massive scar splitting your left cheek." Trevor opens his mouth but Adrian is quick, and cuts him off with a smile. "Frankly, I'm a little concerned it took you this long to notice.” He hears Sypha choke back a laugh, and even Trevor’s perma-scowl lightens, twists into something wanting to call itself a smile when he closes his eyes and sighs.

    “Well fuck me, you’ve got a sense of humor  _ and _ a smart ass,” Trevor says, and backs away from Adrian’s personal space, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He bites his lip while he thinks, before he adds, “maybe the next time I get into a fight they’ll have someone pleasant at the front of the house.” Adrian watches Trevor try to mimic his expression and posture, toothy grin plastering his face, pushing back just as hard as Adrian shoves. 

    “Unfortunately for you, I’m about as pleasant as they get during night shift. You should bring me a cup of coffee next time, if you’d like me to say please and thank you.” Trevor rolls his eyes, and starts off towards the door with a limp and a wobble in his step. His voice is flat in response.

    “It’s a date then.” 

    Adrian chokes back the shock he feels before he calls out after him, “and you aren’t even going to ask for my name first? Awfully rude of you, Belmont.” Trevor looks over his shoulder at him, and thinks it over, scratching his chin in feign contemplation.

    “Considering how much information you have on  _ me _ , I thought it’d be only fair that you’d tell me your name at some point.” He stops walking, long enough for Sypha to catch up to and walk past him while he waits, eagerly. Adrian has to wonder if he's reading too far into this.

    “It’s Adrian,” he answers, after a moment of hesitation, the weight of his name still foreign on his own tongue. He wonders if Trevor will even remember it. Trevor doesn't seem to notice the look on Adrian's face and nods, and when Sypha has to walk back inside to pull him by the arm to the car, Trevor gives him a quick wave goodbye. 

    Adrian hates feeling excited when he thinks about Trevor in his ER again.

 


	2. ketone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry, I couldn’t grab you your coffee on the way in this time.”
> 
> Adrian can't catch a break, and neither can Trevor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to my beta josie for refining this monster

ke·tone

_noun_

an organic compound containing a carbonyl group bonded to two hydrocarbon groups, made by oxidizing secondary alcohols.

2

     Friday night sets a brutal pace. Adrian’s only been clocked in long enough to log a gunshot victim, two anaphylactic reactions, and one asthmatic middle schooler when the two of them return. The doors swing open with a loud string of profanities, as a paramedic trails Trevor Belmont, wheelchair bound. Adrian pushes himself back from the desk, and watches as Trevor insists he can walk and stand on his own just fine. Sypha saunders in soon after; she’s bundled in an oversized blue poncho, her hair curled- eyebrows furrowed, and a slight stagger to her step. She’s clutching a pair of heels in one hand, Chacos on her feet. When she spots Adrian, the look on her face softens; her shoes tap against the tile until she’s standing in front of him. “Adrian, my friend, it seems like this might become a regular thing,” she says and drums the counter with her free fingers, making a face like she’s trying to be mad about it.

  
     “I guess it might,” Adrian says with disinterest, watching as Trevor moves out of sight. “Didn’t think I’d see the two of you back so soon, if I’m being honest. I could’ve sworn you talked some sense into him before you left last time.” He hears Trevor’s muffled voice through the wall, fitfully arguing with someone. It stops almost as soon as it starts, and Adrian reminds himself to breathe again. “What brings you back?” 

  
     “Bar fight,” she replies, and bites her lip to keep from laughing. Adrian pointedly rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop half a grin from sprawling across his face. “It’s horrible, I know. I shouldn’t laugh, but... it’s a shame he didn’t get to stop and grab your coffee tonight.” Adrian chokes down his own disappointment.

 

     Sypha leans forward, elbow planted on the desktop when Trevor’s paramedic approaches, notebook in hand. He pulls his pale hair out of its neat ponytail with a sigh of relief, and it drops right above his shoulders. He tears out two pages, scribbled in notes, and hands them to Adrian, who quickly copies them into an open document. “Thanks, Hector.” Adrian hums and folds up the papers after he saves and sits back. Hector slips past the two of them, and history repeats itself as Adrian swivels his chair to face Sypha. “I’m shocked you aren’t chauffeuring him around again tonight.”

  
     With a click, Sypha sets her heels on the counter, and props her chin up on both open palms. “Tonight we _both_ happened to be out for a change, believe it or not. He’s been telling me about this bar for weeks, and they had half price drinks after six.” She coughs. “I’m… a little over the limit to be driving anyone, let alone Trevor. And I didn’t want more of his blood soaking into my seats again.” Adrian’s face scrunches when she mentions blood, and she pats his arm. “He’ll be fine. He’s been worse, remember?” It doesn’t ease Adrian much to think of last night. ”And if he wants to stop ending up in the hospital, he’ll learn to keep his nose out of other people’s business.” 

 

_      That _ catches his interest. “You’re telling me this happens to be his own fault this time?” A chilly breeze pours into the lobby as the doors open again; Adrian stops, and gives a half-hearted glance. A middle aged man stands past the doorframe, looking wildly between rows of seats, wide-eyed and frowning. He must be looking for someone, Adrian decides, and turns his attention back to Sypha.

 

     He nearly jumps from his seat when another pair of hands slap onto the counter, interrupting him. Adrian hadn’t expected someone this man’s age to move so fast- and he soon notices dried blood freckling his (balding) head. “Where  _ is  _ that little bastard,” he hisses, and Adrian recoils at the familiar smell of alcohol oozing from this man’s breath. His mind immediately jumps to Trevor, scenarios forming left and right about tonight and what he  _ possibly  _ could have done to instigate a fight with this stranger. The last thing he needs to do is spur him on further, he decides. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.

 

     “Sir, are you looking for someone?” His eyes flicker to the blood again on instinct. “Are you injured? If you’re in need of medical help-”

 

     But he’s cut off by this man slapping his left palm against the counter again, closer to Adrian now as he pulls himself up higher. His shirt is unbuttoned a fourth of the way down, and there’s a noticeable stain across his left shoulder, right underneath his bloodied temple. His eyes are beginning to look bloodshot, and frankly, Adrian would rather have ten desks between them. “I’m looking for the little shit who tried to pick a fight with me,” he explains, spit flying from his articulating lips. “I know he turned tail and ran off when I socked him in the jaw after he attacked me!” As if that makes his case any more convincing.

 

     Adrian chooses his next words carefully. “Unless you have some kind of relation to the patient, I can’t tell you what room he’s in.” It’s true, but he says it mostly to leave Trevor out of the situation. If he isn’t smart about it, he knows he’s going to say something he regrets. If he weren’t clocked in, maybe he could handle things  _ differently. _ Adrian thinks about Trevor again, and frowns. “Sir, I think it would be best if you stepped outside to calm down and-”

 

     “You listen  _ here _ .” The man makes a half-assed attempt to grab Adrian’s shirt past the counter, which he avoids with ease by kicking back against the desk, rolling his chair backwards. “I don’t have time for you- your legal shit, what I do with that boy when I see him is none of your business, so keep your nose out of it.” He jabs a finger in Adrian’s direction, nearly slamming it into the back of his computer monitor. “I just need to know where he is, that’s all I’m asking for!” His voice grows louder the longer he talks, with no end in sight; there are definitely people staring, from the waiting room, uncomfortable and concerned. Adrian rattles his brain for anything he could say at this point to persuade this man to leave without involving security, blissfully ignorant of Sypha stepping away from the desk.

 

     Adrian looks up when he hears her scoff, and sees Sypha with her arms crossed across her chest. She looks, in a word, pissed. Brief recognition flashes across the face of the man who now tries to stand up straighter, glaring up at Sypha with a wavering grimace. “You’re that girl who was with him at the bar, yeah?” His full attention is on her now, voice low with contempt when he speaks. “Where’s the damn rat hiding at? You two have already caused me enough problems tonight, you know.”

 

     Sypha, although she’s not the tallest person in the room, carries an intimidating air about her in this state. She takes a step forward, and points aggressively at his forehead. “ _ I’ve _ caused  _ you _ problems?  _ You’re  _ the reason I’m back in a hospital tonight instead of enjoying my one night off!” She doesn’t give him quarter to speak. “You started that fight because you couldn’t be bothered to sit next to us. It’s not our fault you couldn’t handle the noise level at a damn bar, but you sure were quick to try and break Trevor’s nose when he stepped in to shut your howling mouth up, weren’t you?” When she steps forward again he steps back, heel scuffing against the tile. Adrian’s stomach curls in a knot. He knows Sypha can handle herself just fine (she lives with Trevor, after all,) but he just wants this man gone before he becomes a real problem.

 

     She lowers her voice, pouring every ounce of ice from her veins into her eyes that bore into this man’s forehead. “I think it’d be best if you left,  _ perrito _ . If you can’t even stand up to me, you should run home with your tail tucked between your legs before the big dogs tear you apart.” There’s something about the way she says it that makes Adrian believe she truly could tear someone apart, if she wanted. The scruffy man decides his pride is worth less than his skin, and sputters out a lukewarm excuse before pushing past Sypha and leaving- and that half a second of contact is all it takes for Adrian to feel tangible tension between the two bodies.

 

     A violent puff of air passes her lips, one that blows her bangs into the air momentarily before they drop unceremoniously back onto her face. “Men,” she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose, leaning her hip into Adrian’s desk. “Really, if either of them could behave for longer than ten minutes.” She stops herself, closing her jaw, and lets her hand fall to her side. “Well, at least I’ve made a new friend from all this. Silver lining, and all.” He smiles sheepishly, and she tilts her head towards him, and he runs the word over in his head again and again:  _ friends _ . Sure, if a friendship can be built on stitches.

 

     The room is noticeably more quiet, silence interrupted in intervals by wheezing and sniffling. Sypha glances at her watch, and she stares at its hands while she mulls over a thought. “I think I’m going to pop in and check on Trevor. It’s been long enough he has to be done crying about his new stitches.” She pauses. “You’re welcome to walk with me.” Adrian checks the clock, and realizes he’s due for a short break anyway. So he stands up, knees popping as he stretches his legs, and he follows dutifully behind Sypha. She knocks softly, knuckles barely tapping the metal, and calls out- no response; she cracks the door open.

 

     “And here I thought you’d both abandoned me to the bowels of the underworld!” Trevor speaks with melodrama- he throws both his arms up and out to his sides, nearly knocking one of them into the heart monitor above his bed. Adrian catches a glimpse of a new line of stitchwork on his right forearm. “I could have been bleeding out in here, you know, or dying from- what did she say- tetanus!”

 

     “Please, I could never leave you here.” Sypha makes her way to Trevor’s bed and sits on the side of it, without asking. “I’d never hear the end of it. You’d call me for hours, whining and begging to go home.” Trevor rolls his eyes. “Honestly, if you keep ending up here every night, we might as well move all of your things into a room for convenience’s sake.” She taps his needlework arm, expecting a response, but Trevor bats her hand away with little effort. She pouts, and he turns his attention to Adrian with a little half-hearted grin.

 

     “Sorry, I couldn’t grab you your coffee on the way in this time.”

 

     Adrian’s cheeks warm, and he explicitly avoids making  _ any  _ eye contact with Trevor. “I don’t think you were in a position to be getting  _ anyone _ coffee. I also don’t believe baristas appreciate having to clean blood off the drive-thru window.” He’s ignoring the floating feeling creeping up his spine, and pushes it deep down with force when he notices Trevor staring at him. It’s uncomfortable, but he relents and looks back. “So, what happened this time? Big tough brawler looking for trouble come into the wrong side of town?”

 

     Trevor scoffs, looking away from Adrian to his new line of stitches, and he runs a careful finger over the red skin around them. “Nothing in my life has ever been that exciting, Adrian. He wouldn’t shut his damn mouth for ten seconds, right in my  _ ear,  _ because we sat down at the bar next to him _. _ ” He rubs at the back of his neck, looking to Sypha for reassurance. “He kept bugging the two of us, and- well. I got a little.  _ Defensive _ . Told him to use his  _ inside voice _ , and he didn’t take too kindly to it.” Were those his exact words? Judging by the length of his stitches, Adrian guesses otherwise.

 

     Sypha pats the top of Trevor’s head, and he swings wildly at her hand. “Yes,  _ pobrecito  _ here started quite the brawl when he decided to give that man a good jab between the ribs.” She sees the protesting look in his eyes, and shrugs. “Just be glad that hard head of yours takes more than an empty bottle of beer to break.” She stands, quickly, before Trevor can kick her. The bed creaks at the loss of her weight. 

 

     “You best behave yourself next week, Belmont, because my girlfriend and I are  _ not _ driving home just to take you to the hospital a third time.” Her voice has a playful, scolding tone to it, and when Trevor turns his head away from them Sypha puts a light hand on his shoulder to bring his gaze back. “I’ll be six hours away, and I think you’ll bleed out before I can come get you.” He gives her an affirming grunt, which she takes with a smile.

 

     Before long, Adrian realizes his break is nearly over and excuses himself to clock back in; he settles at his post in the midst of a flurry of new faces and fresh blood. The clock whirls on, and he almost misses Trevor call his name through the crowd. His head jolts upright, catching Sypha’s poncho and Trevor’s hair out of the corner of his eye. He waves his new friends on through the door, and they wave back before disappearing into the black night again. He’s barely spared a second to think about them before the whirlwind of names and faces he won’t remember fill his brain and the glaring screen in front of him. 

 

***

 

     Adrian has the next two nights off, and he spends them like he always does: in his apartment, sprawled across his bed between the next novel in his towering stack and dog. He’s a creature of habit, and his sleeping schedule is a mess no thanks to his job. His father affectionately calls him nocturnal. His mornings are spent half-asleep and avoiding sunlight that pours in through cheap, slack blinds; and he fills his nights with textbook notes and soft records, shuffling around his dimly lit apartment like a creature of the night while the city around him comes to life. He has a quiet, uneventful life away from work, and when he’s feeling homesick, he spends hours on the phone with his father. 

 

     The first night back after a long string of days off is always the hardest. After a weekend to himself and three sci-fi novels later, he’s willing himself from the couch to the door. Until now, he’s been able to keep the excitement of work out of his mind. He knows it’s not the hospital itself, but the prospect of seeing Trevor and Sypha a third time. He turns his coffee pot off (he doesn’t want to burn his apartment down,) and pushes thoughts of Trevor’s face out of his head. He’s going to be late at this rate.

 

     Adrian’s pulling on his shoes, struggling with the laces when his dog nips at his arm, painting a long trail of spit from his wrist to his elbow. He frowns, pushing Dracula back and expressing his mock disapproval. “You’re the worst. Absolutely evil, I just washed this jacket, don’t you know?” Dracula’s ears droop until Adrian’s hand nestles in between them, scratching at his scalp. “I’ll be back in the morning. You’ll sleep, and won’t even notice I’m gone.” That seems to do something- Dracula whines, before he jumps onto the couch, watching dutifully as Adrian leaves and shuts the door behind him.

 

     Half an hour later, through city streets and parking garage levels, Adrian finally sets his coffee mug down at his workspace. There’s a soft ensemble of strings playing over the loudspeakers when Adrian drops himself into his usual seat. He’s glad to have some sort of noise to drown out the buzz of fluorescent lighting overhead. Work is always an easy rhythm for him to find, and his thoughts begin to wander while his body moves on autopilot. He’s almost hopeful, checking the last six or so names on his new registry for the night, and almost disappointed when he doesn’t see “Belmont” flash across the screen. It isn’t hard for him to think about Sypha next, and he hopes she’s safe on the road. He wishes he’d exchanged numbers with either of them, and with no real way to contact either of them now, wonders if he’s seen the last of his new friends.

 

  His thoughts keep him preoccupied for a few hours at work, and he's in and out of focus between patients. A pharmacy tech calls out to Adrian and breaks his trance, three hours into his shift. She brings with her a notepad, and a ballpoint pen is tucked neatly behind her ear. Adrian swivels his chair, and she apologizes quickly. “Hate to be a bother this late, but do you think you could do me a favor?” 

 

     She and Adrian pick through patient files until she stops him, pointing out one halfway down the list and asks him to open it. “Is this everything we have on this patient? We were trying to double check her other prescriptions upstairs, but the program crashed on me twice, and when I got it back open half the data was missing.”

 

     Adrian checks the clock- fifteen minutes before his break. “If you want, I can print out a list of her allergies and prescriptions,” he offers, hands already in motion to export the file. “I can’t email you the file, but you should be able to copy down the missing pieces by hand if the program’s working again.” 

 

     The printer comes to life underneath the desk, and he slips the technician two pages of densely packed text. She’s on her way through the elevator doors when a nurse comes to cover the desk for Adrian, and he gathers his phone and bag enthusiastically. He’s not usually all that tired by now, but he’s glad to get away from the desk. His hands move like clockwork along the break room coffee pot. Maybe his long weekend away from human contact is getting to him, he thinks. Something reminiscent of anxiety gnaws at his gut. Maybe he just needs coffee.

 

     Adrian knows something is genuinely wrong before he even sees the front desk again. His bag falls from his shoulder to the floor with a loud thump, and his heart nearly stops- not from the noise, but the sharp seize he feels when he sees  _ Trevor _ . Trevor- Adrian runs his name through his head a few times, wondering why he’s here at this hour, standing by a potted plant at the entrance looking lost. Sypha is gone for the week- if he’d had an emergency, he would have come by ambulance. Adrian crosses one line off his mental list, and steadies his next breath. So maybe he’s here to be a nuisance. Adrian forces himself to smile and parts his lips to speak, but the joke dies in his throat before it rolls off his tongue, because when he finally looks, he really  _ sees _ Trevor. 

 

     He’s hunched over, like he was the first night, except now he’s alone, dragging himself along with effort. He looks up and meets Adrian’s worried gaze, and nearly vomits- he gags, violently, and gasps in pain, clutching at his side as soon as he stops coughing and more or less collapses into the first chair he sees. Adrian doesn’t remember his body standing or moving, only his hands on Trevor’s waist and arm, easing him back up. And he’s scrambling for the on-call phone at his waist, and when he sees it sitting by the jar of pens on his desk, he curses. He’ll have to wait until he can move Trevor, or leave him. 

 

     “Trevor?” He’s barely above a whisper, hand coming up and fingertips touching Trevor’s cheek. His head turns and he looks at Adrian, frustration clouded underneath a glaze in his eyes. Before long he’s doubled over and retching again, narrowly avoiding spitting on his own shoes. Adrian tries again. “Trevor, look at me.” 

 

     Trevor holds his head up with great effort, and holds Adrian’s gaze. His heart is pounding in his ears, desperately looking for any sign of injury, any sign of anything. He tries to ask what happened, keeping his voice steady, but all he gets in response is a slurry of syllables and gagging. His nose twitches at the smell, thick with... sugar. Gum? Trevor smells vaguely like fruit, and Adrian rules out perfume. His breathing is rapid, and uneven, and he sounds like he’s gasping for air; Trevor squeezes his eyes shut before they flutter open a moment later. Clearly he’s not going to make it upright to the phone. “Stay right here.” 

 

     Adrian would never think of himself as an Olympic sprinter, but he’s starting to think he should try out with the way his feet fly to the phone. He gets a nurse on the other line. He explains the situation in rapid detail, and hangs up before she can finish telling him to stay put.  By the time Adrian makes it back to him, Trevor is puking up a mix of bile and murky liquid onto the floor. The wait is agonizing, and Adrian isn’t sure if the hand he puts on Trevor’s back is for Trevor’s comfort or his own; with every ragged breath he takes, Adrian feels Trevor’s entire body tremble. 

 

     When help finally arrives, Adrian has little choice but to move back to the desk as the rest of the night shift steer him out of the way. He counts every minute that passes, checking the clock on his toolbar so often he swears the time goes  _ backwards _ . When Adrian gets another fifteen minute break to stretch his legs, he bumps into Trevor’s new nurse at the vending machine. He tells Adrian that Trevor’s blood sugar level was almost double what it should be, but that he’s stable now. He asks if anyone else came in after for Trevor, and Adrian shakes his head. Sypha happens to not be here when he thinks Trevor might need her around most. But maybe it’s for the best that she doesn’t see him in this state. And if nothing else, he has Adrian. “What room did you say he was in?”

 

     He shouldn’t abandon the front desk- he knows it, but he still finds himself walking with a tattered piece of paper with Trevor’s room number scrawled on it in hand. Waiting for the hall to clear, he knocks, two fast taps, on Trevor’s door. Hearing his voice call from inside is almost too much- and Adrian almost sails right into a lab technician, leaving with two centrifuge tubes of blood in her coat pocket as he pushes inside the room. Apologizing, he holds the door open for her, heart pounding in his chest again. She spares him a glance, almost like she knows he shouldn’t be here, but leaves wordlessly.

 

     “Causing a scene without me?” Adrian’s head swivels to Trevor, and he smiles- Trevor gives him a pained smile back, to his surprise. “Or just causing trouble?” Adrian can hear something off about his voice, something he doesn’t know how to explain. He decides to ignore it. He’s just glad to hear Trevor speaking.

 

     “What happened tonight?” Trevor’s expression stills, and Adrian wonders if even that is crossing a line. He reconsiders his approach. “...you don’t have to tell me.” 

 

     “I had a few too many drinks.”  _ A few too many. _ Adrian caught a glimpse of his hematology labs; the least of Trevor’s concerns is alcohol. There’s no way a few too many drinks could make him that sick.

 

     “I thought Sypha would have talked some sense into you before she left.” He’s smiling when he says it, but Adrian just wants to drill the basic concept of survival into Trevor’s head. “I saw your labwork, Belmont. Aren’t you taking your insulin?” Maybe the drinks weren’t the root of all evil, but Trevor’s glucose count  _ was  _ almost double the normal upper limit.

 

     “Most of the time.” Adrian isn’t impressed, and Trevor relents under his disapproving expression. “...and it slipped my mind, just a day-”

 

     “Just a day is enough to make you that sick?” 

 

     Trevor turns his head away from Adrian, locking eyes with the building across the street through the window. “If you’re here to lecture me, you can save it for another day. My head hurts, and I’m not in the mood for it.” He checks, eyes flicking to the side and back, to see if Adrian is still watching him. He is.

 

     There’s a heavy silence between the two of them. Adrian bites his lip, and really thinks over his next choice of words “No, I wasn’t… I didn’t come to...” He takes a few steps closer, watching Trevor’s heart monitor flux briefly. Adrian sits on the bed, and it creaks gently underneath him. “I came to see you while I was on my lunch break. Just to see if you were still alive, after all that vomit.” Trevor grimaces. 

 

     “Really, wasting your perfectly good break to make sure your coworkers are doing their jobs?” Trevor pushes, with little force, at Adrian’s arm. “I’m fine, Adrian. I threw up, and I got sick. It happens” He looks down at his wrists, and fidgets with the paper band looped around one.  There’s a fine, invisible line here that Adrian is ghosting over and decides to pull back before he crosses it. Whatever it is that Trevor is truly avoiding, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it yet. Trevor moves his legs and stretches his back, almost like he can’t get comfortable now that there’s someone in this space with him. Adrian watches him, carefully, and sucks in a deep breath. He knew Trevor wasn’t skin and bones, but he sees the way Trevor’s muscles flex while he moves- he’s surprisingly toned.

 

     Their window of opportunity together comes to a close as another nurse enters the room, and with a quiet resignation, Adrian gives Trevor a last look over before he stands to leave. He’s sure he should say something, anything before he leaves, but Trevor’s attention is on his new nurse and Adrian slips outside, moments after losing the courage to ask Trevor for his phone number.

 

*** 

 

     Hours pass, from the dead of night into the first rays of sunlight from the new morning. Adrian is clocking out and exhausted, running off of the last fumes of coffee and stretching his fingers out while he walks away from the belly of the beast. He’s lost in his own thoughts, so far so that almost misses Trevor Belmont a little down the same hall, walking towards the receptionist’s corner of the lobby. 

 

     He’s still wondering how to force the lump out of his throat to speak when Trevor does it for him; his head zips around and over his shoulder, taking in Adrian with a new clarity in his eyes. He smiles, and he waves, and he turns his whole body towards Adrian before he says, “Fancy seeing you haunting the halls at this hour.” He’s got a pen in one hand, the other shoved in his pocket, and Adrian notes that Trevor’s looking much more relaxed than the night before. Understandably so. 

 

     “Glad to see you with the living again, Belmont.” A smile slips its way through exhaustion and brain fog. Adrian rarely gets to see the people he checks in leave the same night. 

 

     Trevor lets Adrian close the distance between them before he replies, “I just hated to think about Sypha’s poor cat all alone in that dark apartment. Had to pull myself together.” The employee behind the desk eyes Adrian and Trevor, before returning to paperwork at their counter, impatiently looking up on occasion to see if Trevor has finished his. “Better get a head start if I plan on getting back to the apartment before Sypha does today. It’s a bit of a walk with all the sidewalk closures in town right now-”

 

     “ _ Walking _ ?” Adrian interrupts, entrenched in disbelief. “There’s no possible way you’d make it halfway home walking in your state.” He can’t be serious. 

 

     “Well I don’t exactly have any other options, and I’m sure as hell not wasting money on an Uber while Sypha’s gone.” 

 

     “Then I’ll take you home.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think about them, and his jaw snaps shut. Trevor stares at him, for a long while, before Adrian speaks again. “I mean, I just clocked out. I have nothing to do for the rest of the day save sleeping.” He’s exhausted, and chokes back a yawn; he knows if he shows any sign of weakness, Trevor is going to turn him down out of his own stubborn nature. But he’s fine to drive. An extra hour up isn’t going to kill him. “There’s no reason why I can’t drop you off at your apartment on the way home. You and Sypha live in town, don’t you?”

 

     Trevor can’t seem to come up with a strong enough argument to stop Adrian, and nods. He knows when he’s lost. “Fine, fine, I’ll ride back with you if only so I don’t have to hear it from Sypha later.” 

 

     After he signs his discharge papers, Adrian is leading Trevor into the parking garage outside the east wing of the hospital. It’s a longer trek than he imagined; maybe he just doesn’t notice when he’s walking alone. The sun hasn’t been up for long to chase away the chill of night, and it makes the air feel even colder. He doesn’t think much of the cold himself, but when he looks over his shoulder at Trevor, he sees him shudder as a particularly aggressive gust of wind blows over them. Trevor frowns, and with a quick snap of his wrists pulls the faux fur hood of his coat up. “Not a fan of the cold, I take it?” Trevor shakes his head, and he walks even faster until he’s at Adrian’s side, who fumbles around in his own jacket pockets for his car keys. Two clicks later, and his car’s tail lights come to life, along with the engine and the exhaust pipes.

 

     Trevor looks between the fob and the car, jet black and rumbling in the distance on its own like a slick dragon. “Witchcraft?”

 

     “Close. Remote start.” It’s only a year or so old, and Adrian can’t be fucked to remember the brand off the top of his head, but he knows it didn’t come cheap- a gift from his father. Adrian swerves to the right hand side of his car to hold the passenger door open. Trevor stops walking, staring at Adrian when he doesn’t move. “I figured I’d hold the door for a poor injured soul like yourself. I hope your ego doesn’t mind.” 

 

     Trevor scoffs, and Adrian catches the look in his eyes when he “accidentally” steps on his foot. “Oh, my bad, my poor injured soul, directionally challenged with the stitches in my skin and horrid pancreas and all that.”

 

     Thankfully for both of them, the car’s had long enough to warm up that Adrian hasn’t let all the cold in the world inside. His hands slide over the steering wheel, while Trevor prods at every last surface in the interior. “Try to mind the seats, Belmont. I don’t usually let dogs ride in the front, but I’ll make an exception for you as long as you don’t scratch my leather.” 

 

     He turns his head to check the street both ways, and misses Trevor sticking his tongue out at him.

 

     “So, where exactly am I driving to? I don’t have your address memorized yet, but if you keep coming into the ER at this rate I will.” Trevor takes a minute, looking at buildings to try and orient himself; Adrian glances over at him at the next redlight, and finds him furiously typing into his phone. The navigation app comes in over his phone’s speakers, loud and clear, and Adrian turns right. 

 

     After they settle into a comfortable pace on the road, Trevor puts his elbow against the window. He sets his chin on his open palm, eyes focused on the passing buildings and street lamps. “So, I don’t see you as the type to push paperwork around at a hospital for  _ fun _ . What gives, how come someone like you’s stuck working night shift in a place like  _ that _ ?” 

 

     “My mother got me the job,” Adrian says, tapping his forefingers against the wheel. “She knows I’m thinking about medical school and needed experience. She used to work there, so it was easy enough to at least get the interview.” Trevor picks his head up, and looks at Adrian expectantly. “She’s overseas for the rest of this year and most of next, so do try to hold off on any extreme injuries until she’s back.” Adrian turns his head to Trevor and smiles; he’s teasing, but there’s a level of sincerity to his voice. “She’s an  _ excellent  _ surgeon.” 

 

     He’d never say it, but seeing Trevor seriously in trouble made him terribly anxious. He’s still not sure why. This is only the third time they’ve met, but Adrian feels his stomach churn whenever he replays last night in his head. He’s been scrambling to figure out a way to keep it from ever happening again, knowing there’s no real way for him to keep Trevor out of harm’s way. He doesn’t even know where he lives, let alone how to make Trevor listen to him.

 

     “What about your dad?” Trevor’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and Adrian’s eyes widen before refocusing on the road. 

 

     “What about him? Are you asking if he’s the  _ other  _ Dr. Tepes?” The thought makes Adrian smile. “No, he’s more of a bookworm. He’s honestly become something of a homebody lately.” He should call his dad later. “I don’t see him that often, but we were close before I left.” Maybe he should stop talking about his dad now. “So, what are the Belmonts like?”

 

     Trevor indulges Adrian’s question after a quiet “hm” and a deep breath. “They’re a lot like I am. Devilishly handsome, brilliant, talented, all the makings of future presidents-” He laughs dryly to himself. “No, I’m something of a black sheep in my family. My mother always says I’m the spitting image of my father when he was younger, but he’s been thoroughly domesticated by me and my sister.” He unzips his jacket a bit, pushing the hot air vents away from his face. “My mum teaches, and I work for my dad’s family business, but I get into more trouble than the two of them ever did put together.”

 

     “Sister?” He never pictured Trevor as anyone’s brother. Then again, Adrian tends to assume  _ everyone  _ is an only child like he is.

 

     Trevor grunts. “Yeah, sister. Only God knows what she’s off doing.” He taps his fingers against the inside handle of the door. “She’s a quite a bit older than I am, so we’re not all that close. Says I got all the attention as a child since I was so sick all the damn time.” He looks over and catches Adrian’s eyes again. “Y’know, on account of the fact that God decided little Trevor Belmont didn’t  _ need  _ a functioning pancreas.”

 

     Something eats at Adrian for laughing at that, but he still does, and reminds Trevor, “Yes, I know, I’ve seen plenty of your medical records at this point.”

 

     “Well then why even bother talking if you know such much about me, Adrian? I guess we’ll just sit in contemplative silence for the rest of the car ride.” He looks at Adrian’s car radio and tilts his head. “You don’t even have an AUX cord in this bastard.” Adrian is a breath away from correcting him, to tell him it’s wrapped up in the console, but Trevor’s phone announces a left turn and the apartment complex sprawls before them. “Well I’ll be damned. You got us here in one piece.”

 

     Adrian’s gut twists while he puts his car in park. This is the first time he’s talked to Trevor outside of the ER- the first time he’s had a long conversation with anyone (besides his father) after work. He’s loathe to let him go so soon. “Trevor?” he asks, with uncertainty in his voice. He’s not sure what he’s trying to accomplish yet either- really, he’s just stalling the inevitable. 

 

     Trevor has one hand on the handle again, and looks over his shoulder at Adrian. “Adrian?” he says back, voice an octave higher to mimic him. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you about to hop out and open the door for me again? What a gentleman.” They both smile, and Adrian’s cheeks feel a tint flushed. 

 

     “No, no I was just wondering, since I’m sure I likely won’t see you in the hospital again, if I could-” 

 

     Before Adrian can ask for Trevor’s number, he hears him release a wavering  _ scream _ , and then hears the slap of both Trevor’s hands coming to rest on the car’s frame. Trevor sucks in a breath, looks down at his feet on icy turf, and looks up at Adrian with a wide grin on his face. “Maybe you should see to it that I get inside without killing myself. It’d be an awful waste of money if I ended right back up at the hospital.” Adrian’s worried, for a brief second, until he reads between the lines. The relaxation in Trevor’s shoulders. The warm current in his voice. The soft smile on his face. Adrian’s worries melt away into a fluster as he realizes that, maybe, he isn’t the only one who would hate to end things here.

 

     “I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> four months later with a juicy lil fourteen page nugget for all y'all to read  
> sorry for the slow update but this semester killed me and dragged my corpse through hell, hoping to get on a once a month or sooner update schedule
> 
> also shoutout to the people who left nice comments on the last chapter know that i read all of them i just don't know how to properly reply to any of them <3
> 
> i got through writing the rest of this chapter listening to happyvania on bandcamp and the track titles are enough to make me laugh every single time
> 
> i'm apicoplast on tumblr and @funktechnisch on twitter and ig

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i haven't written fic in nearly a decade and adderall is fueling my creative drive
> 
> i'm apicoplast on tumblr


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